"These gentlemen can dine here, can they not?" said the Baron de B., appealing to the exquisite Joe.
"No doubt at arl, sir, in de questchums," replied Joe quickly, and with his Æthiopian face shining like a bright boot.
After the Baron de B., and the Spanish Minister had seen that we were likely to encounter no difficulties under the protection of Joe, they left us, expressing much regret they could not remain with us, being obliged to dine at the Palace. When they had gone, "Dis way, gentlemen, dis way," Joe breathed softly, and marshalled us his own peculiar way. Joe soon put the whole hotel in an uproar by his magnificent description of our personal rank and appearance; and in about ten minutes every lacquey and scullery maid in the establishment knew that we were the identical Englishmen who had come to Copenhagen in a yacht.
Joe had ascertained, somehow or other, there was a nobleman among us; but his sagacity failed on this occasion, and he could not make out which was the substantive Briton. Joe, however, was not to be done, and so, after awhile, he addressed us all, as "my Lard;" and, though quite out of his province, he _would_ stand at the door of the room where we dined, and see that the waiters attended properly, and were sufficiently agile in their movements. Joe, moreover, acted as interpreter.
"Es, my Lard," Joe would reply to me, and transfer the command in Danish to the waiter.
"Suttinlee, my Lard," said Joe to P.; then coming up to the table, and, leaning confidentially over it, observed.
"Me would recumdate, my Lard, de Bunseppalouse, it bery good wine, cumsiddumrately dan de hock."
"How do you know; have you tasted it?" said R.
"No, my Lard; me only go by de smell--him bery rifferous, bery, my Lard;" and Joe sniffed till the steam from the vegetables rushed up his nostrils.
"I say," R called out to Joe, as he was disappearing over the threshold in search of the _Bunseppalouse_, "you black pudding, you; what do you mean by my _Lard_? can't you pronounce your O's? what do you with your A's, when you meet them?"
"Leeb um to himself, my Lard," replied Joe, deferring his exit; "nebber trouble him; if me do, me bery quick wid him."
"Hebben forbid, my Lard, me gib de King money;" answered Joe solemnly. "Dat d-- bad polumcy."